


branded

by x_somnio



Category: Video Blogging RPF, natewantstobattle
Genre: Gen, Horror, One-Shot, Self-Harm, could the stuff in this be considered self harm? i dunno, ill count it just incase tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-27
Updated: 2017-10-27
Packaged: 2019-01-25 00:56:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12519272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/x_somnio/pseuds/x_somnio
Summary: we're in a special kind of hell





	branded

**Author's Note:**

> hi here's something i whipped up because of branded. god. that music video left me shook(tm)

Lies. Anxiety. Jealousy. Loathing. Sadness.  
Corruption.

Nate felt the mask mold to his face. Get it off. Get it off. He grasped at the hands gripping and holding him down. The red fabric under his body felt uncomfortable, he could feel the dust. Get it off.  
Put it on.

The metal was cold. He could hear ticking, cogs, grinding of metal against metal as eyes he could not make out clearly all laid on him.  
He looked with only his eyes. Hands slowly left his body, and there were no more, but he still felt their rough grips and how harshly they'd grabbed him and held him down. He sat up, but fear caught itself in his throat. Nate reached up and tried to pull the mask off.  
It didn't work.  
Nate grasped desperately at the edges of the cold metal mask. Please. Please. Please. Get it off.  
Put it on.

He felt like he was going to go mad. His brain was clouded and his heart ached with something he didn't understand. The masked others he'd found himself with regained a calm, unmoving composure. They watched as he gripped the edge of the table. They grabbed him before he could bash his head into the edge.  
Nate wanted to cry, but he couldn't even open his mouth. He was filled with fear, with horror, and he could feel their hands again. Get it off.  
Put it on. 

Nate pulled away from their grasp and ran, their hands peeling his denim shirt from him. He ran. They did not follow this time. He felt sweat run down the back of his neck. His chest heaved, he could feel himself begin to hyperventilate. He needed to get this off.  
In a mad daze, he threw himself into the walls. Nate wanted it OFF. Nate pulled at the mask, felt his fingertips ache. He couldn't take it off. Why couldn't he take it off? Get it off.  
Put it on. 

He could hear footsteps gather behind him as he continued to slam himself into the wall. It would break this way, wouldn't it? It would break.  
  
It would break, right?  
He felt the side of his head begin to pound.  
It would break soon, right?  
His hand ached from colliding with the wall.  
It had to break soon, right?  
He swivelled his head into the wall, the edge digging into the paint but not at all even chipping.  
It had to break.  
Nate slammed his forehead into the wall and felt blood run down his face.  
Get it off.  
Put it on. 

Nate tried to tear at the edges of his mask, collapsing to his knees. He let out muffled cries and continued to scratch at the mask. It didn't come off. It didn't come off. Get it off.  
Put it on. 

He felt scars burn into his palms. Was the metal that sharp? Get it off.  
Put it on.

Blood dripped from his chin and into his hands, filling dollar sign-shaped scars. Get it off.  
Put it on. 

Nate slammed his head into the wall one final time. He couldn't get it off.  
Put it on. 

He felt hands hold him up again, wiping the blood free from his face. He felt something being slipped onto him-- a denim jacket of some sort. Out of the corner of his eye, in fading vision, a black jacket.  
Nate found himself laying on a couch. A half-masked woman stared down at him. 

Put it on.  
Put it on.  
Put it on. 

He recall feeling some sort of fear, now fleeting, but he couldn't exactly put his finger on it. He sat up and held his head in his hands. Hard metal. Warmth.  
Stinging dollar sign-shaped scars.  
_Put it on._


End file.
